Saturday, December 15, 2012

Along the way,
a moment shimmers into being,
frames itself
to image where you are.
You see it in an instant,
set aperture and shutter to best expose
the secret unfolding in your lens
in clearest hues of light and shadow.
Some images are signposts,
a mark of where you’ve been,
and others, guides
to where you’ve yet to go.
Destination never was the point,
for any line is many points,
each an opportunity
to stop
and turn
and look at what you find,
and what finds you,
along the way.
It only matters how
—not when or where,
or even what—
you see.

With each exposure
grows an attitude of seeing
not the surface,
but the light which opens,
pulsing from the center.
These images together
make a luminous arrangement,
a constellation to brighten midnight skies
for those you’ve met,
and known,
and loved
along your way.

Sunday, December 02, 2012

.
There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees, A quiet house, some green and modest acres A little way from every troubling town, A little way from factories, schools, laments. I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,With only streams and birds for company, To build out of my life a few wild stanzas. And then it came to me, that so was death, A little way away from everywhere.

There is a thing in me still dreams of trees, But let it go. Homesick for moderation, Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away. If any find solution, let him tell it. Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation Where, as the times implore our true involvement, The blades of every crisis point the way.